Thief Eyes

another. Not human memory—human memories are short. That is no matter. All any mortal beings once knew, I remember for them. Once I held those memories for my master, but he walks less and less often in this world. Yet though the old gods retreat to their own places, Memory remains in this land to the end of days.”

I kept scratching at that scab. Pain shot behind my eyes, but I didn’t cry out. I remembered how I’d woken, swallowing screams. Apparently I was someone who could handle pain. “I can hold my own memories,” I said.

Muninn threw back his head and krawked—it sounded like a warning. “Your memories were small enough payment for the life I saved. What gift can you offer me to have them back again?”

I barely knew my name. What could I possibly have to give? Why should it take a gift just to get my own memories back? “You had no right to take them.”

“Nor did I have any right to save your life. Yet save it I did, and that life is the one thing I’ll not take back again.” Muninn ducked his head and began grooming his sleek feathers.

The fox opened his tiny brown eyes. “It is easier to forget.” The small terns bobbed their heads in agreement.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and felt warm metal once more. I pulled out a small silver coin, engraved with circles and lines. I heard—or maybe remembered—a woman’s voice calling my name.

Muninn’s head jerked up. His wings moved. “What is that? I remember that.”

I held the coin out. “Would you like it?”

The raven blinked, his eyes flashing gray. “Now that is an interesting offer. Destroying the coin might make the earth safe from the spell—or it could release the spell’s power into the world. Best, perhaps, if I simply keep watch over it to prevent you from drawing on its power.”

“Take it, then.” Even as I spoke, I knew I’d be glad to be rid of the thing. “Take it and give me my memories.”

“I must think on this. I will return when I reach a decision.” Muninn launched himself from his perch, circled me once, and flew from the chamber. The little black-capped birds flew after him. Only the white fox remained. He uncurled himself and stretched his front legs.

I sighed and sat down on the bed. “Do you have a name, too?”

The fox climbed up beside me. “You may call me Freki, if you like.”

“I’m Haley.”

“I know,” the fox said, which seemed an unfair advantage. Why did everyone know who I was but me? Freki rested a paw on my leg and looked up. “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah.” Starving, actually, though I hadn’t realized it until then.

“I’ll get food.” The fox walked over to the drinking horn. “Are you going to finish this?”

I shook my head, though my throat was dry. “It’s drugged, isn’t it?”

Freki’s ears flicked back. “It is not drugged.” He sounded offended. “But it is, perhaps, stronger than mortals are accustomed to—strong enough to mend broken bones and torn flesh. My master sustained himself on such mead. Will you finish it?”

I shook my head. I was glad to be mended, but I didn’t want to sleep again. “No. You can have it, if you want.”

The fox looked at up me, small brown eyes bright in the lamplight. “Are you certain? Even my master never allowed me a sip of his sacred mead.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Enjoy.”

Freki lowered his nose into the horn, making quiet lapping sounds as he drank. He was surprisingly tidy. He didn’t spill a single drop. He licked the last bits out with his long pink tongue, and I laughed.

Freki didn’t seem to mind. He nudged my hands with his warm nose. His breath smelled faintly of alcohol. “A most excellent gift. I will not forget it.” He turned and walked from the room, the tip of his bushy tail brushing the floor behind him. He didn’t seem sleepy, just a bit more careful in his steps than before.

I lay back on the stone bed, staring up into the shadows. “My name is Haley,” I whispered. How could everything I knew end there?

Freki padded back in a short time later, a small drinking skin hanging on a string from his neck. Behind him, two small birds flew in together, a plate piled with food hovering in the air between them. They flew to the bed, and the plate gently set itself down beside me. The terns made squeaky clicking sounds as they left the room, and their long tail feathers fanned out behind them.

The smell of cooked meat made my stomach rumble. Freki bowed his neck so I could take the skin. It hovered above the ground a little, too. “For later,” Freki said. “In case you change your mind.”

“I won’t change my mind.” I set the skin down beside the bed. “You don’t have any water, do you?”

Freki’s white whiskers twitched. “What adult drinks water?”

“This one.” When you lived in the desert, water tasted better than coffee, better than soda.

The desert. I wrenched that thought free from the mud of my thoughts. I live in a desert.

“I would not offend a guest with watered-down wine, let alone water itself. Do you require anything else?”

I shook my head and took the plate in my lap. Freki curled up beside me. I reached out to stroke his fur. The fox made a small contented sound and rolled over so that I could get his belly. The white fur there was just as soft.

Only after my hand was covered with fox fur did I realize Freki hadn’t brought a fork. I wiped my fingers on my jeans as best I could, took a slice of meat in my hands, and bit into it. It tasted like lamb, only sweeter. As I chewed, the sweetness grew stronger, making my whole body tingle.

Shit. “You drugged the meat, too.” Already my voice sounded thick. I threw the plate across the room—too late. The cave blurred around me. I tried to stand but felt myself falling, toward stones that suddenly seemed soft as feathers.

“Can I have your meat, too?” a voice squeaked. I was asleep before I could answer. 

Chapter 5

As I slept, the voices returned.

A girl’s voice: “Teach me sorcery, Uncle. I promise I won’t tell.”

A man’s voice: “Are you strong enough, Hallgerd? Stronger than the power you would command?”

The girl: “You do not know me, Uncle, if you doubt my strength.”

The man, laughing: “Oh, I know you well enough. Gladly I will teach you.”

I knew awful things would come from that teaching, and I tried to call out a warning. My lips wouldn’t move. I saw gray blocks tumbling down, flames consuming them as they fell.

A boy’s voice: “Wake up, Haley. Please wake up!” Someone shook my shoulder. I rolled away. I wanted to keep sleeping.

Light shone into my face. I cursed and blinked. Green eyes stared down at me—a boy in a black leather jacket, wool cap jammed over his ears. He had a backpack slung over one shoulder and a small blue LED keychain flashlight in his hand—the one he’d shone into my eyes. The lamps were still lit, the oil no lower than before. Where the boy’s light hit the stones, it seemed more green than blue.

“I found a way out of here.” His voice held a trace of an accent. I couldn’t tell from where. He grabbed my hand. I drew it away as I sat up.

“Do I know you?”

The boy scowled, as if he didn’t have time for this. There were weary circles around his eyes. “Yeah, I’m Luke Skywalker, and I’m here to rescue you.” I gave him a blank look, and he rolled his eyes. “Of course you know me. It’s Ari, remember?”

The name meant nothing to me. My breathing sped up. Panic hovered right behind. Just how much had I forgotten?